


Words, Wars, and Symphonies

by aprilbird



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blue and Ronan bitch at each other for 7k, Bodyswap, Everyone else more or less has their powers, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Halloween, Halloween costumes described in great detail, Multi, Noah breaks a plate but is alive, There is kind of plot but the focus is on the Banter ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-06 04:08:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21220310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aprilbird/pseuds/aprilbird
Summary: The Gangsey but they all go to college together and the boys throw a Halloween party and things go wrong.Or, the time Blue and Ronan switched bodies.





	Words, Wars, and Symphonies

**Author's Note:**

> This one is a birthday present for a dear friend, to whom I promised (a year ago) a fic that focused on Blue and Ronan's friendship- the rest crawled out of my brain and became this beautiful disaster. Enjoy!
> 
> (Title from Let's Kill Tonight by P!ATD because that song is inextricably tied to Halloween in my mind.)

Vampires didn’t sprint. 

The moon was full, perfectly hidden behind wispy clouds, and a chill breeze stirred the dried leaves and scattered them across the sidewalk. In other words, it was perfect Halloween weather. 

It was all very atmospheric, Blue thought, and her boots and cape were very dramatic, and everyone knew that when one was wearing dramatic boots and it was a moonlit Halloween night and the wind was perfectly flowing one’s cape out, dramatically, one was duty-bound to _ stride_. 

Maybe a quick stride, sure, if one was late. But vampires didn’t sprint, and Blue was dressed as a vampire. The fact that she had already walked four blocks and her feet were starting to hurt in her dramatic boots had nothing to do with it.

She wouldn’t even be late if Orla hadn’t insisted on doing her makeup, honestly. She had gotten ready with plenty of time to get to the party, but her cousin- and roommate, this year- had caught her moments from smearing eyeshadow under her eyes and insisted on a makeover. In Blue’s opinion, the fangs alone would have been enough, and the eyeshadow would have been pushing it, but apparently a Halloween house party warranted things like tightlining and fake blood and ashy-toned contour. 

Living with Orla wasn’t that bad, to be honest. The apartment had thick walls, and was located in the heart of campus, and rent wasn’t horrible split between the two of them, it was just, well. She had signed the lease at the beginning of last year, when she had only just befriended her boys (as Orla called them). Last year had become a dizzying blur of adventures and magic and the kinds of friendships that feel like they’ve been rooted in your heart your whole life. 

Now, though, she was stuck in an apartment ten minutes away from the house where they all lived together, in the cool, expensively inexpensive college-student housing neighborhood on the edge of campus. Monmouth Street was far enough from frat row to avoid its reputation, but close enough to the party scene to be the center of student nightlife for those who wanted more from a hangout than clubs or keg stands.

It was safe, too; even at night, she felt no fear walking - striding - down Monmouth alone. Relief still washed over her when she spotted the house, though. What could she say, it was getting pretty damn cold. Even for a vampire.

She rang the bell and noticed as she waited and shivered that someone (undoubtedly Adam) had replaced the last of the summery flower beds with dark green foliage and mums in autumnal hues. He had begun studying with her family over the summer, and had developed quite a green thumb along with scrying and tarot skills. Gansey had declared him the house’s official gardener and provided an unlimited plants-and-planting-paraphernalia budget on the basis of keeping up the house’s image and Monmouth Street’s reputation, but Blue knew his real motivation was encouraging Adam’s hobby in a way that definitively Was Not Charity.

God, she missed Gansey. 

She hadn’t seen him in a week, both of them wrapped up in crew (him) and work (her) and midterm season (both of them). She missed the other boys, too, of course, but things were different with Gansey in a way that both of them were still slowly figuring out.

Thundering steps echoed from inside. She barely had time to jump back before the door swung open, releasing a cacophony of orange light and pulsing bass and fake smoke spilling out onto the porch. The silhouette in the doorway struck a pose, one hand on the top of the door frame, other hand on a cocked hip. It was decidedly not Gansey. 

Blue blinked several times, taking in pointed black shoes and a great expanse of tan leg in yellow-and-black striped spandex shorts with a matching blazer open over a bare chest.

“Thank God, Sargent,” said Henry Cheng. He was wearing a headband with black and yellow antennae affixed to it, and the pom-poms on the ends danced as he sank into a low curtsey.

Amused, she took his proffered hand, and he twirled her inside and closed the door in a single flourishing motion.

“You don’t know how it’s been, these years without you,” he lamented. “Every time the bell rings, His Majesty runs the full range of human emotion in the span of a moment. Heartbreaking to see, simply heartbreaking.”

“He didn’t really dress as Glendower, did he? I thought there was a ban on-”

“On any and all characters from Welsh mythology, no matter how historical? You would be correct. I won’t spoil his costume for you, though, I believe it is something best experienced for oneself. Speaking of costumes-”

“I like yours,” she said, gesturing. “Such an inspired take on the humble honey bee.”

He twirled, revealing small fake wings affixed to the back of the blazer, and shrugged. “I’ll be honest, it was my third choice. I wanted to be Link, but the costume shop had no such offerings. Then I asked after Spiderman, to no avail.”

“You could have made your own,” she pointed out.

“You misunderstand me, Indigo. I went this morning. Apparently all that is left in campus costume shops on Halloween morning are wings and antennae and disappointment. Thank goodness I had these old things laying around, right?” He waved at the blazer and the shorts.

Blue decided not to ask. 

Henry led her through the hall, past the heavily-remixed _ Monster Mash _ pounding through the walls from the living room. “I offered to find Parrish something, but he refused, of course. Looks like he figured it out alright.”

They were passing a group of freshmen in the parlor- yes, the house had a parlor, Blue tried not to think about it- huddled on couches and the carpet, watching with rapt attention as Adam Parrish, perched on the back of an armchair, spelled out a story. Judging by the gestures he made, long fingers dancing through the air, he was telling a particularly disturbing horror story. He was good at stuff like that, from coming up with the stories to delivering them with perfect timing, and it was clear that his audience was clinging to his every word.

Blue laughed to herself as she took in Adam’s “costume”: simple black dress shoes and pants, a grey sweater vest over a white collared shirt with the sleeves cuffed at his elbows. It was more or less what he wore every day as a pre-law student, with the exception of a green and silver tie and a green post-it note on his chest bearing a crudely drawn logo.

“He said that if he was gonna get called a magician he might as well dress as one,” Henry laughed.

“That’s clever though, to use things he already had.”

“Speaking of,” he said, “How long have you been creating this masterpiece?”

“Honestly? Months,” Blue admitted. 

“It shows, those boots are marvellous.”

“I just stole these from Orla, actually, but I shredded a velvet shirt for the laces. And she has so many fishnets, I don’t even think she noticed when I stole a few for the pants.” She gestured at the rips going straight up the sides of her high-waisted black pants where she had layered the red material. The pants went high enough that she had forgone a belt in favor of tucking the ruffled white shirt in just below her ribcage, buttoned only at the very bottom. It was a bit risque, but the lacy victorian choker and the knotted ties to her high-collared red cape filled the deep v-shape. She was damn proud of the outfit.

Henry seemed to appreciate it too- he was still staring at her legs, looking a little dazed, but before he could say anything a massive _ crash _ rang through the house, followed by a forlorn _ “Shit.” _

“I had better attend to that,” Henry rolled his eyes. “I think Czerny just dropped another plate.”

Blue peered past him into the kitchen/laundry room/bathroom (there wasn’t actually a toilet in the room, thank God, but there was a mirror above the sink which was used by Gansey and Henry and Noah as a vanity, so it counted). Sure enough, Noah was kneeling on the hardwood floor by the dryer, dressed in a sparkling skeleton suit, attempting to pick up ceramic shards.

“I’ve got that, here- let me,” Henry said, rushing to help him. “Sorry, Navy,” he called over his shoulder. “I’m sure Lynch will help you find Ricky, won’t you, Lynch?”

She hadn’t even noticed Ronan, leaning disdainfully on the marble-topped island, or perhaps it was more apt to say that she had noticed a figure in a cowboy hat and had immediately and subconsciously eliminated the possibility that it could be Ronan, no matter how disdainful the lean. And it was an extremely disdainful lean.

He straightened up slowly, so that she could become excruciatingly aware of their height difference. And then he was sighing, and telling Noah to “let me take the fucking plate off of the top fucking shelf next time, you proud, drunk dipshit,” and slinking over to her.

She knew Ronan did not hate her. They had been friends for a year now, and had struck an intangible truce based on mutual respect of the other’s rage and a shared penchant for mocking Gansey with the utmost affection. Sometimes, she remembered the first few weeks of their friendship, when she had thought that maybe he did hate her. Especially when he made that face. 

Now, though, despite Ronan’s glower, she was not intimidated in the least. Part of this was because they were, after all of their shared secrets and adventures, true friends. But a greater part of it was because Ronan goddamn Lynch was wearing a _ cowboy hat _\- and a neckerchief and an open black denim vest that was far too small for him, and over his jeans he was wearing- 

“Nice assless chaps,” she said, meanly.

“Fuck you, city slicker,” he said, pleasantly. “All chaps are fucking assless.”

They exchanged a simple fist bump and glared at each other.

She did not bother asking after his midterms. Ronan had some nebulous major that involved Latin and agriculture and ornithology, or something, and he was one of those infuriating people who aced his exams despite never going to lecture. 

“How’s the beast?” She asked instead.

“Chainsaw’s good, she’s sleepin’ upstairs.” Ronan seemed to lighten, almost imperceptibly, at the mention of the baby raven. Ronan had dreamt her a few months ago- and hadn’t _ that _ been a revelation- and she had since become the unofficial mascot of the house, and despite various levels of complaint the boys were all dedicated to keeping her a secret from their landlord, Mr. Dittley. 

Blue had limited experience with said landlord despite her near-constant haunting of Monmouth Street, most of which was owned by the man. She had once helped him clear away fallen branches after a nasty storm, and for her trouble had received a can of spaghetti-O’s and an ominous warning not to venture into the small patch of woods behind the houses. Privately, she thought that he would be fine with Chainsaw, but at this point the keeping of the secret was its own adventure.

“Did you ever figure out the,” she mimed placing a crown on her head. “You know.”

“Still working on it,” Ronan scowled. “I’ve got her picking up the damn thing, but she’s just crowning the first person she sees. Not sure how to train her to stick it on Gansey’s fat head without him being there for the fucking training, and she keeps shredding them when I’m not looking so now he wants to know why I’m constantly orderin’ Burger King.”

“Shame, that.”

“What-fuckin-ever. Art is a process.”

She raised an imaginary champagne glass in toast. 

His face made an almost-smile, then his gaze fixed on something behind her and his eyes narrowed. “What.”

She turned. 

Tad Carruthers was stumbling up to them, clad in cargo shorts and an ill-fitting t-shirt that stated “This is my costume” in block letters. He made to lean on the wall as Ronan was doing, but overshot and would have wiped out without the assistance of a firm hand snagging his collar.

Ronan set him back on his feet and wiped his hand on his vest. “What,” he said again.

“You’re, like,” Tad slurred. “You’re like, Parrish’s best- _ hic _\- friends, right?”

“We’re his friends, yes,” Blue cut in before Ronan could drop-kick Tad into the living room. She shot him a look that said, _ play nice_.

He responded with a look that said, _ I am going to drop-kick him into the living room_.

“Well, he’s into, like, magic shit, right? I brought something to, to show him, but,” he sagged against the doorframe, “I can’ rem’ber where I put my- _ hic _\- my bag.”

“Bags are in the first door on your left in the basement,” Ronan said in a monotone voice. “Goodbye.”

Tad’s look of pure drunken confusion sent a pang of sympathy through Blue.

“Here, we’ll help you find it, yeah?” She offered.

The thin slash of Ronan’s mouth said, _ I am going to drop kick you both into the living room_.

Blue quirked an eyebrow that said, _ He is going to fall down the stairs unless we help him_. 

She turned so that she wouldn’t have to see what Ronan’s face said next, focusing instead on taking Tad’s arm and guiding him to the door of the basement stairs.

Tad did not live with the boys, but he was a teammate of Gansey’s and had shared a class with Adam and had thus attained firm acquaintance status. He was a business major with a passion for old, boring musicals and a tendency to assume an unrealistic British accent when making jokes, and Ronan hated him for some unnamed reason.

“I like your costume,” Tad said dreamily. He hummed a few mangled bars. “Pirate, right? Wicked.” 

Then again, it wasn’t too much of a stretch to assume that their personalities were simply incompatible. 

Blue found him annoying, personally, but Gansey did not have many old friends and so she attempted to dilute Ronan’s venom whenever possible. Even if that resulted in the two of them basically manhandling Tad down the creaky, narrow stairs so he wouldn’t slip on the dusty steps or whack his head on the slanted ceiling.

By some miracle they made it downstairs. The basement consisted of a cluttered narrow hallway from which branched a gaming room (currently being used, loudly and vivaciously, for foosball), Gansey’s room (from which spilled boxes of books and rolled paper maps and a single boat shoe and a paper sculpture of the Parthenon), a storage room (containing yet more boxes and a shelf of awards for rowing, tennis, student government, skateboarding competitions, academic performance, and irish music), and a guest room. 

It was this last room into which they stumbled, practically carrying Tad between them. The bed was covered in coats and hats and scarves and bags and all the miscellaneous things that people bring to parties to dump in a guest room. 

“Hey, asshead,” Ronan said, giving Tad the gentlest of firm shakes. “We dragged you down here to get your shit, right? Which one is it?”

“That one,” he flailed a hand at a fancy leather messenger bag that sported a Transformers keychain on the strap. “I need’a get, I found this thing for Parrish, he’s gonna- oh, shit-”

Tad tore himself out of Ronan’s grip and stumbled into the en suite. Blue and Ronan blinked after him as the pleasant sounds of someone being violently sick into a toilet echoed from the doorway.

“Well,” said Blue. “I think we’ve done our duty.”

“Hang on, I wanna see what this shitclown was gonna show him,” Ronan said. His words were joking, but his tone and gaze were murderous.

Before Blue could summon the energy to raise an argument about respecting private property, Ronan had the messenger bag open and was already digging through it with single-minded focus. With a small sound of triumph, he pulled out a rectangular bundle wrapped in a plastic Target bag and began to tear it open.

Blue fussed with the flared sleeves of her shirt. “Maybe we shouldn’t-”

“The fuck?” Ronan interrupted, holding up his find. It was a small, dirty box made of dark wood, and the top was carved with- were those tarot cards? Three identical rectangles decorated the lid, covered in floral designs like a spread of overturned cards. The box had a strange energy about it- it felt real and present and important and made its immediate surroundings seem just a shade paler in comparison.

“Huh,” was all she could say, but she meant _ where would Tad Carruthers find something like this? _

“Huh,” Ronan mocked, meaning, _ I don’t know and I don’t care_.

The longer Blue stared at the box, the more she thought- well, they should open it, right? Just to see. It might be important. They knew how to handle things like this, they ought to-

Simultaneously, she and Ronan lifted the lid. Inside, nestled in dark purple velvet, was a jewel, dark and glittering in the dim light from the bathroom where Tad had stopped throwing up. 

Tad was the furthest thing from Blue’s mind. Transfixed, she reached for the stone at the same time as Ronan, and no sooner had they touched it then her common sense came rushing back, yelling at her that _ that is the most cursed-looking rock she had ever seen _ and _ don’t pick it up, idiot _ , and _ ow, that’s hot- _

Pain shot up her arm, and she was falling to the floor, which seemed so much farther away than it had been a moment ago, and her head was swimming-

“Wha’ the hell, guys,” Tad was slurring from very far away. “Give that back!”

She tried to move, to get up, but couldn’t, and Tad was grabbing the fallen jewel with his hand in the Target bag like he was scooping dog shit, and he was stumbling out of the room and-

The door slammed behind him.

The door to the guest room that was never used as a guest room because it had no internet connection and because they would all fall asleep on the couch or the floor when she stayed, but mostly because the goddamned door _ locked from the outside_.

Shit.

She lifted a hand to her head, wincing at the lingering pain from whatever the hell had just happened.

Her hand touched firm suede. She felt more deliberately. Her hand was touching a cowboy hat. Ronan’s cowboy hat. She stared at her hand. It was long and calloused and was wearing Ronan’s leather bands around the wrist.

Double shit.

She struggled to sit up, leaning against the bed. Looking down confirmed it- there was no way those were her legs.

What the fuck.

“What the _ fuck_,” said her own voice. 

She could only stare at her body a few feet away, slowly sitting up, bearing a lethal glower she would recognize anywhere. Even on her own features.

“Ronan?” she asked, and her hand flew to her throat. _ That _ was definitely not her voice.

“What,” her double repeated, “the actual, ever-loving, deep-fried _ fuck_.”

That was Ronan, alright. 

Looking at her- him- was too weird, so Blue dropped her gaze to the ground, focusing on the discarded box, laying open from the haste of Tad’s exit.

“What the hell was that rock,” she muttered, reaching for it, then- “_ Shit_.” She flexed the stubbed fingers and reached again, slow and careful this time. She closed the box and stared.

“Ronan,” her new, deeper voice said, “check this out.”

“That wasn’t there before,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

They both stared at the lid, which had moments ago depicted three cards facedown. 

“Page of cups,” Ronan said. God, it was horrible hearing her own voice. “That’s your shit, yeah?”

“Look,” Blue pointed, but her hands- Ronan’s hands- were shaking. 

They looked. The first card was now undoubtedly the page of cups. But it didn’t look like Blue. It was Ronan’s scowling face glaring up from the carving, bearing the cupful of fucking potential. 

“Shit,” Ronan said softly, but now he was looking at the third card. The figure on the horse had Blue’s face.

“The knight of wands,” she noted. “That tracks.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean.”

“Wands are the suite of creation, and knights bring the energy of their suite out to the world. It’s literally you,” she said, voice calm. “and, well, it represents someone passionate and brash and impulsive. So.” 

“So it’s our cards with the faces swapped. Big fuckin’ whoop.”

She resisted the urge to swat him. “It may have escaped your notice,” she said testily, “but we, currently, have literally _ swapped faces_.”

“And bodies.”

She did her best approximation of his patented death glare.

“Imagine how fucked up it would be if just our faces swapped, though, like that fucking filter Noah’s obsessed with,” he continued, unfazed. Well, not quite unfazed- he was speaking with her voice, after all, and she knew what her voice sounded like when she was trying to sound unbothered.

“Look at the middle card,” she said, instead of pointing out the tremble. “Temperance, reversed.”

“Unbalance,” Ronan muttered. He scowled away from her questioning glance. “Parrish won’t shut up about this shit, don’t blame me if some of it stuck.”

“Well, that’s right,” she said, instead of pointing out the flushed ears. “So we need to re-balance… this.”

“We need to go find fucking Carruthers, is what we need to do,” he said, using the bed to leverage himself back onto his feet.

She did the same, and swayed a moment, disoriented. She had known, objectively, that Ronan was fairly tall, but, damn. “Is this really how you see things,” she started to ask, but broke off with a laugh at the sight of herself glowering up from below.

“What the fuck, maggot,” he hissed. “I knew you were miniscule, but what the fuck.”

“Shut up.” Rolling her eyes, she turned to the door, but, “damn. I forgot, we’re locked in.”

Ronan scoffed at that, deriding her preposterous insinuation with a curled lip. Somehow the expression worked on Blue’s face. God, this was absurd.

He glowered at the door until any living thing would have melted, then proceeded to wrench at the handle, at one point bracing his feet on the frame to pull with his whole body weight. The issue was, of course, that all he had to work with was Blue’s body weight. He realized this at the same moment Blue did, and though she tried to stifle her laugh, an indelicate snort escaped, prompting him- still clinging to the door like a spider monkey- to whip around and glare, lose his footing, and collapse in a furious heap of limbs and vampire cape.

She knelt beside the heap. “Need a hand?” she asked gravely.

The heap responded with a string of expletives.

She stood and tried the handle a few times, to no avail. She knocked, then pounded, then yelled, but the music thudding through the ceiling drowned all sound in electronic waves of _ Calling All the Monsters_. She momentarily thought of digging through the assorted bags and coats for a phone, privacy be damned, before remembering the famine of internet reception and cellular service that plagued the basement.

Ronan had sat up and was scowling into the ornate mirror on the back of the door to the en suite. “Figures,” he sniffed, “the one day you don’t have a metric fuck ton of shit stuck in your hair.”

“What?”

“You know, the fuckin’... things. Those metal sticks. That open doors.”

“Are you trying to describe a bobby pin.”

“Those bitches, yeah.” He sounded entirely too proud.

“Sue me for changing my hair for Halloween,” she sighed. “You’re messing it up, anyways.”

Ronan was not impressed by this, or, apparently, by the slicked-back bob that had taken far too much time and pilfered hair product to be ruffled the way his repeated thumping against the side of the bed was ruffling it.

She sat on the bed above where he slouched on the floor and studied their reflections. “Where did you find this shit, anyway,” she asked, tipping the cowboy hat exaggeratedly. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he said, meaning _ from home_.

“Even this?” She pointed at the sheriff's badge engraved with a rather lewd message.

“Dreamt it.”

“Ah. And the prop revolver?”

His grin edged on feral. “S’not a prop.”

“The _ hell_?” She sprang to her feet. “You’ve been letting me walk around with a _ gun _ on my hip?”

“Technically,” he offered, “It’s _ my _ hip.”

She swallowed the scream of rage. _ Think_. “Wait. We could- maybe- the door-”

“You want to shoot out the fuckin’ hinges?” He sounded genuinely impressed. “Balls.”

“You do it,” she said, pulling the revolver out of the holster and holding it out like a dirty diaper.

“Nah,” he said, leaning back against the side of the bed and closing his eyes. “I believe in you.”

“Ronan Lynch-”

“Kidding.” He stood and stretched, plucking the gun out of her hand like it was a tv remote she was passing to him. He spun it around his finger, the epitome of boredom, and with a casual flick of his wrist fired at the center hinge.

Blue flinched, but instead of the expected bang there came an exaggerated ghostly wail and instead of a bullet the gun had fired a stream of-

“Candy corn?”

Ronan aimed the revolver at his own palm, spun the barrel, and shot again. This time the sound was a creaking door. He popped a kernel into his mouth. “Want some?”

Blue stared at him for a long moment. 

He gave a shit-eating grin. “I never said it was a _ gun _ gun. Dreamt this baby last night. Pretty spooky, huh?”

“So, what, you dreamt a candy corn gun and thought _ screw it, I’ll be a cowboy_?”

“Nah, it was a last minute addition,” he popped the rest of the orange monstrosities into his mouth. “You think I found those boots on a day’s notice?”

“I think the heels are higher than my boots, and I swiped those from _ Orla_.”

“I like the spikes,” he said, and shot candy corn into his hand again to the sound of a yowling cat.

“Stop _ doing _ that, I don’t want my mouth to taste like shit when we switch back.”

He chewed it all at once, exaggeratedly.

“I swear, I am going to throw you out the damn-” she froze. She turned.

He froze, and turned.

“Window,” they said at the same time.

God, they were a couple of dumbasses. The guest room had two windows, up by the ceiling- those little half-windows that show up in basements with the holes in the ground outside. Said holes were currently full of leaves and mud and probably a few frogs, but Blue would be damned if it wasn’t better than being trapped in this room with Ronan for a second longer.

Several minutes and a lot of mud later, they were outside, in the mild drizzle of the backyard, pointedly not looking at each other.

She broke the silence. “You didn’t have to _ break the glass_.”

“You didn’t have to break the glass,” Ronan repeated, high-pitched and mocking.

“Look at my cape!” she pointed.

He flourished what remained of the cape, twirling it out before him. “Now it actually looks like a vampire’s cape, not the cloak of fucking levitation. I did you a favor. You’re the one who lost my fucking vest.”

“It snagged on the glass _ you _ broke while I was hauling _ your _ ridiculously gangly body out of a broken window because _ you _didn’t give me a hand!”

“If I had given you a hand I would have fallen back into the gutter because you weigh as much as a fucking tomato!”

She swatted him with his own cowboy hat.

The bickering continued as they trudged through the muddy lawn to the front of the house, where Blue found herself ringing the bell and shivering on the porch for the second time that night.

“If you didn’t want to be cold you shouldn’t have left the vest,” Ronan sneered.

“That shit was sleeveless, cropped, and unbuttoned. You’re delusional,” she said through chattering teeth. “You looked like a stripper.”

“You’re the one shirtless in a neckerchief,” he scoffed.

“And chaps and cowboy boots. _ You _ chose this outfit, idiot.”

“Well, this shirt has too many ruffles. And the fangs make me want to rip all my teeth out.”

“Well,” she hissed, indignant, “At least you swapped into a normal body, I don’t know what you need all this stupid muscle for- why do your ribs have abs?”

“Those are fucking serratus anteriors, and what do you mean, normal, you think it’s normal to be three feet off the fucking ground-”

The door swung open. 

Just like last time, music and light and fog curled out of the doorway, illuminating a dramatic silhouette, except this time it wasn’t Henry posed against the doorframe but-

“Jane!” Gansey cried, gleeful, and then he was throwing his arms around Blue’s body and lifting and spinning and laughing. “I adore your costume, your perfume is enchanting, oh, I’ve missed you terribly-”

“Uh,” said Blue, several feet away from the embracing duo.

“Uh,” said Ronan, who was hoisted in Gansey’s arms, legs around his waist for balance, arms awkward like he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

“Gansey-” Blue started, and he looked up like he had just realized she was there.

“Ronan? What are you doing outside? And what happened to your shirt?” He shifted his armful of vampire- keeping his hands in gentlemanly places, not that one would guess it by the scandalized look on Ronan’s face- and offered his hand in a fist bump.

She stared at the proffered hand and awkwardly bumped it, but then it was doing complicated things and all she could do was stare.

“What’s wrong, Lynch,” Gansey asked, and it figured that her inablity to do their stupid cultish handshake would be what threatened to clue him in. For a moment, she considered coming clean. 

“Uh, nothing,” she said. The glare Ronan shot over Gansey’s shoulder was scalding.

Blue frowned, meaning _ just go with it, it’ll be easier_.

Ronan sneered, meaning _ easy for you to say_.

Blue deepened her voice and attempted to mimic the glare. “It’s just, uh, fucking cold out.”

“Of course, I’ve forgotten myself, come in-” Gansey stepped back through the doorway and set Ronan down. In the light of the entryway Blue could properly see Gansey’s attire for the first time, and she burst out laughing.

He shot her a look. “You’ve seen my costume, Ronan, so cut that out.”

“I thought-” she started, then reconsidered. “Uh. Remind me again how that doesn’t break the No-Glendower-Costumes rule?”

“We have been over this,” Gansey rolled his eyes, making the motion smooth and expensive-looking. “But for Jane’s sake, I’ll explain again- I’m not breaking the rule because I’m not dressed as Glendower.”

Blue blinked. Gansey was wearing a chainmail tunic under a metal chest plate, with leather bracers on his wrists and a sword belt at his waist and a long cape of fake ermine fur. The worst part, though, was that his dark hair had been brushed out of its effortlessly tousled side parting and straight down, simulating a bowl cut.

Ronan, bless him, knew what she was burning to ask. “Then who are you?” he asked in an insulting imitation of her accent.

“Prince Hal!” he exclaimed, eagerly. Taking Ronan’s expression of disinterest as one of confusion, he continued, “Well, Prince Henry. Well, King Henry. The fifth. Well, the Timothée Chalamet version of Henry V. You know, the movie that comes out soon? I supposed that with such a modern take on Shakespeare’s Henriad that I could seize the opportunity to have a pop-culture-relevant Halloween costume for once. I think you’ll be proud of me, Jane, I was going to use the 2012 BBC adaptation for Tom Hiddleston’s more Machiavellian take on the character, but Halloween isn’t only about scary costumes, is it?"

All she could do was stare at him. Her heart was bursting, suddenly, with affection for this old man in a nineteen-year-old’s body, for his enthusiasm and his obsessions and the stupid bowl cut that shouldn’t look as good on him as it did.

Seeming to take her misty expression as one of Ronan’s mocking smirks, he went on, “You may laugh, but few things are scarier than a ruler who knowingly manipulates his people, who values his image over the well-being of his subjects. It’s no wonder that Glendower denied his pardons, really-”

“There it is,” Ronan said, momentarily breaking character.

“Well, it’s not as if Henry V is a part of Welsh mythology, he just happened to be a historical figure whose father nearly went to war with Glendower and who tried in vain to pardon him later on- that’s not a myth, it’s history, I’m sure even Wikipedia could tell you-”

“Have you seen Tad?” Blue interrupted, because if Gansey kept going with that righteously indignant tone she was going to be tempted to kiss him, and that was a truly horrible idea for a large, large number of reasons. 

Gansey ran his thumb over his lower lip. “Tad Carruthers? He wandered upstairs a while ago, I think, but,” he visibly searched for a way to put it delicately, “why?”

“I need to talk to him,” Ronan said, grabbing Blue’s hand and marching away, “about a diamond.”

“Be back in a minute, sorry-”

“Wait, I’ll come with,” Gansey said, keeping pace up the stairs despite the body armor and Ronan’s double-step climbing pace. Damn all that rowing practice.

Upstairs was mostly deserted, save for the lone figure of Adam leaning on the bathroom door, eyes closed. Ronan froze upon seeing him.

“Hey, guys,” Adam said, not lifting his head from where it rested against the doorframe. “Hi, Blue. It’s been a while.” 

“It’s both creepy and cool that you can do that,” Blue smiled, the pleasure of seeing her friend eclipsing for a moment her current predicament. She realized, though, as Adam’s eyes shot open, that she had both complimented him and smiled in Ronan’s voice. 

“Lynch,” he said in an entirely new tone. His eyes dropped lower and his ears flushed before his gaze pinned to the hat. Then, “Wait a minute.” 

Gansey glanced back and forth between them.

Ronan was still standing frozen, looking like he would rather hurl himself down the stairs than face this conversation. 

Blue, being rather attached to the body that would take the descent with him, intervened. “We’re looking for Carruthers,” she said gruffly.

“Well, he’s in there,” Adam pointed at the bathroom door with a tilt of his head, still eyeing her strangely. “I’ve been knocking for ages; he yelled something about not being ready and I haven’t heard anything since. If you want a coherent conversation I’m afraid you’re out of luck.”

“Right,” Ronan said, striding up to the door. “Did he lock it?”

“No, but I’m not about to-”

Ronan wrenched the door open with far more force than was required.

Blue followed him, flanked by Adam and Gansey.

Tad Carruthers was sprawled in the empty bathtub- still clothed, thank God- holding the Target bag to his chest and blinking up at them with the bleary confusion of the highly inebriated. 

“No, Parrish,” he pouted. “I’m not ready, I need’a wash my hair.”

For a moment, they all stared at him.

Ronan made to snatch the bag from Tad’s grasp, but he shoved it into the waist of his cargo shorts with a stubborn look.

“Listen, fucker, don’t think I won’t-”

“Ronan, hang on a damn second!” Adam swore, holding him back by the cape. The cape that Blue had put on, hours ago, to go with the vampire costume that, like the cape, was on _ her _ body. The body Ronan was currently in. 

She supposed if anyone would supernaturally pick up on their body-swap it would be Adam.

“I’m sorry, what?” Gansey tilted his head.

“Where did you get that box, Tad?” Blue asked, pleasantly.

Tad was sitting upright now, pressing himself into the corner of the tub, looking at her with drunken mistrust. “Woods,” he muttered, unpleasantly.

“The woods behind the yard?” Adam knelt down. “Why were you back there?”

“They’re s’posed to be haunted, or, wha’ever,” Tad mumbled. “I wanted’a find some spooky shit, t’ show you. There was this, like, pile of dirt, an’ I dug it up. ”

“Well, what did you find,” Adam asked patiently, ignoring the daggers shooting from Ronan’s eyes.

“Dunno.”

“We need what’s in the bag,” Blue muttered. “To switch back.”

Gansey squinted at her. “Switch- pardon?”

“Can I see what it is?” Adam asked.

Tad glared at Blue and Ronan before presenting the parcel.

Adam took it gently. He rested his other hand on Tad’s head, coaxing him back down against the tile, and said, “Sleep.”

Tad’s head lolled to the side.

Gansey opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it.

Ronan stared. “Since fucking when can you do that.” 

“I can’t,” Adam sighed, standing up. “He’s just shitfaced.” He upended the bag over the counter, and the jewel clattered to the marble.

“We just touch it simultaneously, yeah?” Blue remembered.

“I don’t feel the mind-fuckery from last time,” Ronan said. “The draw to touch it. So we probably should.”

“You have got to tell me how this happened,” Adam muttered. 

“I feel,” Gansey said, “As though I am lacking an essential aspect of this conversation.”

“Later,” Blue promised them both. She pushed the leather bands up her wrists so the strings wouldn’t get in the way, and Ronan did the same with the flared ruffles of his shirt. Well, her shirt- or at least it would be soon, provided this worked.

The bathroom was not big enough for the four of them- five, if you counted Tad, who had begun snoring in the bathtub- and two of them were wearing capes and she was so much taller than she was used to being, and every glance in the mirror made her aware that she was not wearing a shirt and she was more than ready for this to be over, really.

With a deep breath, she and Ronan reached for the stone. Their fingertips brushed it, and she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the heat, for the shooting pain, for the dizziness.

Nothing happened.

Tentatively, she opened her eyes. For a moment, her own face stared back.

“Fuck,” said her reflection, and she realized she wasn’t facing the mirror.

She poked the stone a few more times, and sighed heavily. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. “What now?”

“Now,” Adam said, “I think we go check out the woods.”

“Remind me why we’re doing this?” Noah yawned.

“Tad dug up a cursed stone to try and impress Adam, then Blue and Ronan touched it and got body swapped, so now we’re putting it back to try and re-balance the whatever,” Henry answered, pushing a wet branch out of his face.

“How did you catch up with what happened faster than Gansey?” Blue asked. “You weren’t even there.”

“I’m here now, Turquoise,” Henry grinned back at her.

He and Noah had intercepted the group as they retrieved the carved wooden box- and Ronan’s denim vest- from the guest room in the basement. It was the whole group, now, trudging through the woods behind Monmouth Street, catching up on what had happened and bickering amongst themselves.

“Quiet,” Ronan hissed. “Adam is trying to focus.”

“It’s just a few more yards,” Adam murmured, eyes closed. “I can feel it.”

They emerged into a small clearing. The wind rattled the trees, sending a few lingering leaves swirling, and the moon shone through a part in the thick clouds. If ever there was a night to lay a cursed box of unknown origin to rest in a forest that was much bigger than it ought to be, it was this.

The clearing was empty, save a few fallen leaves, but there was a clear hole where something had recently been unearthed.

“Can’t wait to be a normal fucking height again,” Ronan muttered.

“Can’t wait to not be dressed like a yeehaw chippendale,” Blue responded.

“Let’s not waste time,” Gansey said. In his armor and cape he looked like a ghost of some ancient king. Blue couldn’t tell if it was this or merely Gansey’s tone, but whatever the reason Ronan pulled the box out without argument.

“When this is over,” Adam said, “I’m going to have a long talk with Tad about digging in the woods on Halloween.”

Blue and Ronan knelt in the damp grass and regarded each other for a moment. No words were said, but none were needed. They bumped fists. Together, they placed the box back in the hole and smoothed the dirt over its surface. 

No sooner had it vanished from sight then her vision blurred and she was falling backwards, but not far, into something firm and solid and warm-

“Jane?” Gansey asked gently.

His face swam into focus, very close to hers. She blinked, and reached to brush his hair- stupid, stupid bowl cut- from his eyes, and halfway through the motion she realized that her hand was her own again. 

“It worked!” she cried, sitting, suddenly self-conscious about having swooned into Gansey’s arms. The self-consciousness lasted as long as it took to glance over to where Ronan was draped in Adam’s lap like a comic book love interest.

“Well,” Noah said, lounging in the grass between them, looking for all the world like a true skeleton in his glittering costume. “This is more fun than the party.”

“I’m just glad it’s over,” Blue sighed, running a hand through her hair. She was willing to bet that, beneath the dirt, the tarot cards had righted themselves, or maybe reverted back to face-down carvings- she would have to ask her family about that, later, but for now they had done it, it was over-

An eerie shriek rang through the night.

“The hell was that?” Henry asked, looking perturbed for the first time that evening. “I think you jinxed us, Periwinkle.”

The cry rang out again, and a chill zipped up Blue’s spine. She clenched her fingers in Gansey’s cape. 

Her mind raced. What if this ran deeper than a stupid, drunk college student digging up a box? What if there was something else at play, something like the forces her family dealt with, like what Adam was learning to deal with? What if cursed stones and body swaps and tarot carvings weren’t so easily dismissable, and something was coming-

A shadow swooped from the trees, down towards her, and Gansey was shouting and covering her, and then everything was still.

She pushed herself out from under the cape. 

He was sitting up, chin lifted. 

The cry came again, quietly, from much closer- specifically, from Ronan’s shoulder, where Chainsaw had perched, clearly pleased with herself.

A beam of moonlight broke through the clouds, perfectly silhouetting the paper Burger King crown placed on Gansey’s head. 

A small chuckle broke the silence.

Slowly, it grew into a full-bodied laugh, and then Ronan was wheezing, clutching his stomach, and Gansey was joining in, and then they were all howling in the grass like fools.

Blue’s hair was ruined, and her makeup was undoubtedly smeared, and her cape was in tatters, and her mouth carried the lingering waxy taste of candy corn. They looked like idiots, she was sure, but they were young and dumb and so happy, and there was nowhere she would rather be. 

And so, for a singular shining moment, they lay there, a bee and a wizard and a skeleton and a king and a cowboy and a vampire, and laughed their asses off beneath the full moon.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> So I planned everyone's costumes in such extensive detail that I've been doodling them for weeks; if you care to see the sketches I've posted them on my ig (@_aprilbird_). Thanks for reading!!
> 
> Plot holes whose resolution did not Vibe with the story: the college is called Cabeswater University and is on a ley line, Adam didn't make a sacrifice he can just Do That, Chainsaw got out because she knows how to open windows and crowned Gansey bc she's an asshole, and the box and stone are just your everyday Cursed Shit found on a ley line. Feel free to ask for any more clarification :)
> 
> Also, if anyone was curious, the words "fuck", "shit", "hell", and "damn", when combined along with their variants (e.g. "fuckery"; "shitclown"; etc.), make up exactly 69 of the 7,385 words that comprise this fic. This was entirely unintentional. Truly, the world works in strange and wondrous ways.


End file.
